5 ELVES OF INTEREST
The
Horologist
BY SUSAN BURGESS
PHOTOS BY GREG GARDNER
Walk into Mel Liebman’s Clock Shop in the historic
120
P.P. Cobb Building in downtown Fort Pierce and
you hear the heart of the 27-year-old shop beating
in ticks and tocks, punctuated by the bongs and chimes of
clocks that go back a hundred years or more in age. How fitting
for the clockmaker who throws his heart into his work,
as his father and grandfather did before him.
His fingers delicately work at the insides of a clock, picking
it apart meticulously, preparing it for the surgery that
will restore it to perfect health. His goal: “When you are finished,
you don’t want them to see the repairs,” he said.
Liebman is a horologist – a maker or dealer in timepieces.
His knowledge is vast. He can take apart almost any clock
and put it back together without ever drawing any diagrams
or making any notes.
He has worked on clocks from the 1600s and 1700s, and
relishes the experience. “We’re such a throw-away society,”
he says. “I get to take something that is old and keep it the
way it is, and preserve it.”
Clock repairmen take pride in their craft. “Most repairmen
will mark the clock they work on in some way or sign their
name, date and city using pencil or ink. Some have a trademark
or they scratch it in.” He follows tradition and makes
his mark when he repairs an old clock too. “You wonder
what this clock has seen.”
In the early days, the forerunners of today’s clocks only
had a single hand, just to mark the hour.
Liebman, who grew up in Miami, learned his craft from
his father, Joseph, who learned it from his father, Aaron.
Although he was raised in the business, Liebman as a young
man thought he’d like to study medicine. But then he
changed his mind and decided bringing clocks back to life
was what really made him happiest.
Liebman’s father passed away more than 20 years ago, but
the son still still uses his beautifully made and perfectly
functional tools.
When Liebman opened for business in Fort Pierce in 1980,
clock repair and restoration were already growing obsolete,
the Florida State Watchmakers’ Association was steadily losing
members, and people told Liebman they doubted he
could make a living here.
“But here I am, all these years later,” he said, gesturing at
this shop which has clocks everywhere except on the ceiling.
A pile of discarded clock works, called “movements” in the
trade, lies in a corner, insurance against the day when he
can’t make or locate a rare part. An anniversary clock,